Slow Me Down
by Cocofoshosho
Summary: My submissions for SE Angst Week! Set in a slight AU - grab some Kleenex!
1. The First Time I Saw You Cry

**A/N: Special thanks to Explorer08, the best beta ever!**

Soul Eater Angst Week - "The First Time I Saw You Cry" - Bring on the Rain by Jo Dee Messina

"Soul!"

Maka couldn't get close to him. The scythes that had sprouted from his arms were swinging haphazardly at anything that neared him. Her weapon partner had lost it; the kishin had triggered the madness lurking inside Soul. Haunting memories of Italy and a church, along with a faint reminder of your fault, threatened to distract Maka, but she shook them off, focusing on the haywire wavelength coming from her partner.

She noticed Kid, or Lord Death, or however he preferred to be addressed, attempting to call for backup on a small pocket mirror. Since Soul was supposed to have been Kid's official weapon for the witch convention at the DWMA, Liz and Patti were still at the Gallows. Both meisters were unarmed against the death scythe - and it really didn't help that he was a very powerful, very out of control weapon.

I've got to do something, she thought as she panted a few yards away from Soul, ash-blonde pigtails dangling over her shoulders. He was going to hurt himself or someone else if he couldn't get it together soon. They were all lucky that he hadn't managed to attack Kid while he wielded the death scythe when the Kishin first appeared. As it was, the forest right outside of Shibusen was steadily falling prey to his insanity, the foliage being hacked into oblivion.

To make matters worse, the kishin had escaped to who knew where. Maka couldn't think about that, though, not when Soul was in danger. If she could only grab his hand or something, she could force resonance with him and pull him out of the madness. But she couldn't get close! Her frustration with the situation made her a little reckless, and her desperation made her just crazy enough to launch herself at the death scythe before formulating any kind of a plan.

"Soul!" she called again, daring to attempt to move in. She sprinted towards him, hoping she was fast enough to get to him before he could lop her head off. He turned as she approached, and she hit the ground as one of his scythes slashed where her neck had just been a moment ago. She kicked out a foot to send him to the ground, and he toppled onto his back. She scrabbled to get atop him and pin his scythe-arms down before any serious damage could be done.

She managed to flatten the blade on his right side into the ground where it wouldn't be a major threat. However, she wasn't fast enough to secure the other side before the scythe bit into her side. She hissed in pain but didn't lose her focus, pushing the blade out of her abdomen and forcing it to the dirt. She gritted her teeth as she shifted to lift her hands and harshly press her knees into his scythe-arms, ensuring they would not budge.

Maka's hands gripped the sides of Soul's face and held it steady. She tried to make eye contact with him, but he refused to look at anything for longer than a second or two. She noticed, through her haze of agony, that the crimson of his irises - a color she had come to love so dearly - had darkened to almost black. He snarled at her, his sharp teeth snapping dangerously. She moved her hands, one under his chin and the other threaded through the white hair at the crown of his head. She clamped his mouth shut and forced him to be still.

She kept her eyes open as she pushed her soul wavelength into his.

* * *

She found the Black Room a mess. The lush red curtains were sliced to mere ribbons, the upholstery on Soul's chair ripped and the stuffing pulled out. The record player was smashed to pieces, cracked vinyls scattered about the floor.

The music emanating from the piano far across the room was deafening, the chords clashing chaotically throughout her soul as she made her way over to the instrument. It was a song she was familiar with, yet it was so...different that she had a hard time placing it. The sound of Soul's melody in battle continued to wash over her, but the desperation with which it was played was off-putting. She quickened her pace, silently praying to every deity she knew that she wouldn't break an ankle before she reached him.

Maka finally came close enough to properly see the piano and its player. She passingly noted that the piano was the only thing intact in this space, but her attention was focused on her partner. Her heart clenched.

Soul was sweating with the intensity of his playing, his nimble fingers flying over and pounding into the keys as the song went on. He didn't seem to notice anything outside of the sounds coming from the instrument of his soul, and no matter how loudly Maka called to him as she tried to run to him in heels, he couldn't hear her. Her pulse pounded in her ears; she lengthened her strides as much as she could, desperate to reach her partner.

It seemed that the faster she ran, the slower time became. Still, she cried out his name, the image before her cracking her heart like the records smashed beneath her feet. She didn't know what he was so focused on, but it was clearly not what was happening in the real world, where her body was starting to feel the first effects of blood loss.

She was finally, finally next to him. Her shouts of his name lowered to just barely more than whispers, and she reached out a hand to catch one of his as it flew her way on the piano. He jerked away and his eyes widened at her visage.

"Maka?" he panted, eyes a little crazed and still so dark. He hesitantly extended a hand toward her. She smiled and took it, heart fluttering in relief. "Soul," she breathed, squeezing her fingers around his.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, confused. His other hand absentmindedly tapped on a few keys, and she snatched it from the piano too, halting any kind of music.

"Maka?" he tried again, cheeks tinted a little pink, probably from how fervently she was gazing at him.

"What's the last thing you remember?" she returned, avoiding his question.

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Maka fidgeted a little under his stare. She dropped her eyes to their feet and noticed that her side wound was not present. Because he doesn't know, she realized, so it won't be in here.

She cleared her throat. "The kishin that showed up at the witch convention, do you remember that?"

"Oh, you mean what Kid and I are literally fighting right fucking now and you're kind of distracting me from?"

She shook her head. "Soul, the kishin got away. There's nothing to fight. This is the madness," she said softly, easing her grip on his fingers.

His hold tightened in compensation. "What? No, the kishin - "

"Listen to me, Soul," Maka interrupted, moving a little closer to him. His eyes were starting to lighten back into their normal color, she noted, grateful for even a small step towards getting her Soul back. She dropped one of his hands so she could place hers over his heart.

"Can you feel it now? Do you see?" she continued, her voice hushed. She could almost pinpoint the exact moment he was brought back, the memories of the past hour or so flooding through him. She felt a wet spot on her side and looked down to see her wound had made a reappearance. Relief and guilt pervaded through her in waves - the former for finally getting Soul back, and the latter because she felt wholly responsible for the gash in her side. She looked back up at his eyes and had just registered the immense pain flashing behind the crimson orbs before she was roughy yanked from the Black Room.

* * *

As she regained her bearings, she noticed her knees were now digging into a pair of arms rather than scythes. Maka leaned back when she heard sharp intakes of breath from underneath her. A wave of dizziness hit her with the motion, and she crumpled to the side.

"Maka!" she heard someone call, but she had diverted her attention to Soul, eyeing him as he came to. She didn't bother trying to push herself back up, not wanting to expend any extra energy. She watched as he laid there for a second, then jolted to a sitting position, his head swiveling back and forth. She smiled wanly when his eyes locked onto her. His face paled and his eyes widened. He mouthed her name as he reached out for her.

"Ah!" Maka yelped as she was suddenly jerked away from her weapon. Soul immediately retracted his hand as his gaze lifted to see who had grabbed her. She did the same and was surprised to see Kid hauling her up by her underarms. She had almost forgotten the Shinigami was here with them.

"Hey!" she protested, but Kid held fast.

"Just until we are certain he's back to normal," he smoothly explained, narrowing gold eyes at the death scythe. She looked back at Soul, whose hand had dropped back into his lap. His jaw was clenched, but she could still see the trembles he couldn't quite hide.

"It's fine, Kid," Maka mumbled, trying to push him away. "Let me go to him. He's my partner." Kid hesitated, but Maka struggled against him until he helped her over to the weapon. She dropped down onto Soul and wrapped her arms behind his neck before he could crawl away, hugging him closely. His arms pushed against her for a half-second before he changed his mind and closed them around her, and she sucked in a fast breath when her wound flared in pain. He immediately loosened his arms.

"No, no, it's okay," she assured him, tightening her hold. He carefully put his arms back around her, mindful of her injury this time.

"It's okay," she softly repeated, feeling him press his face into her shoulder. "You're okay, I'm okay. We'll get the kishin next time."

His arms pulled her in a little closer. "But your side," she felt his words vibrate through her shoulder. "You're not okay. I did that to you." He started shaking.

Maka ran her fingers through the tufts of his white hair. She knew he wouldn't believe her if she tried to take the fault for her wound, if she told him that it was her bad for not being fast enough. She instead chose to keep consoling him. "I'm not dead," she murmured, "and I'm not going to let it pull me down, pull us down. You're still my partner, and I - "

She halted everything when she felt a wetness soak through the fabric over her collarbone. Surprise flickered over her features; Soul never cried, or at least not in front of her. She got ahold of herself and resumed her actions, making sure to be extra gentle.

"I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm so fucking sorry, Maka." He kept up his heartbreaking mantra as she rubbed circles into his back with one hand and kept threading his hair through her fingers with the other.

"God, Maka," Soul wheezed, sobs coming more freely. She chose not to say anything, simply comforting her weapon and holding him as close to her as she was physically able. She could see Professor Stein racing toward them in the distance, and she smiled.

It really would be okay. Tomorrow was still coming, and they were both going to live to see it. She hoped they'd see a lot of tomorrows, actually. Maka kept a firm grip on Soul while he let out his tears, simply holding onto the one person she loved most, thankful that he was there with her. One day, she'd tell him exactly what he meant to her, but now was not the time.

As Stein approached, all she could think was bring on the rain.


	2. Nightmares

**A/N: Thank you, What2do, for pointing out formatting issues!**

Soul Eater Angst Week #2 - "Nightmares" - _Burning House_ by Cam

Soul sauntered back home from the record store, a bag tucked under his arm and his hands shoved deep down in the pockets of his black leather jacket. He straightened his posture when the sounds of sirens and shouts from up ahead - the direction of his and Maka's apartment complex - hit his ears. He picked up his pace and jogged forward, wondering just what the fuck was going on. Suddenly, the distinct scent of smoke assailed his nose. When he turned the corner and reached the building, he halted and his jaw dropped.

The first floor was almost completely engulfed in flames.

He saw two fire trucks parked right outside the complex with firefighters soaking the building in their attempts to stop the blaze. He spotted a crowd at a safe distance away from the apartments, and quickly made his way over to it. He scanned the crowd, his heart in his throat, searching for twin pigtails and emerald eyes. Not finding them, the situation fully hit him, sending his mind reeling and shocking his body into stillness. Three facts kept swirling around in his head, each fighting to make itself known as he tried to regain control of his body:

1.) The building was on fire.

2.) The structure wasn't going to make it.

3.) Maka was still inside.

Soul finally snapped out of his momentary daze. He cursed as he dropped his bag and dashed to the entryway, ignoring the shouts and shaking off the pulls of the firemen around him. He ignored the wave of heat that also tried to push him back, but he forced his way inside the burning building. He covered his head with his arms as he ducked and threw himself past the flames to the stairwell.

He clambered up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. The bells and strobe lights of each and every fire alarm assaulted his senses. The air grew thick and heavy with smoke and heat. His eyes watered, and he pulled the collar of his shirt up over his nose, continuing to climb the staircase. If Soul didn't have a singular motive to getting to the top of the stairs, he would have noticed that the flames hadn't made their way inside the stairwell. As it was, he rushed up the stairs, only thinking about reaching his meister. _Why the hell did we have to live on the third fucking floor?_ Soul inwardly groaned. He couldn't move fast enough; Maka was going to die.

 _No_ , he steeled himself. Not on his watch.

He tamped down his panic (or tried to. He and the love of his pathetic excuse for a life were still in a fucking _burning building_ ) and set his focus on reaching their apartment. He forced his legs to move faster, surging up each time the balls of his feet hit the ground.

He finally reached the third floor and sprinted to their door. His hand shot out to turn the doorknob, but it had absorbed a shitton of heat from the fire and burned his fingers. He hissed some colorful profanities as he snatched his hand back, the skin already starting to swell.

"Maka!" he roared over the din of the fire alarms. He gave the door a solid kick, adrenaline giving him extra strength. The wood gave way beneath his foot and he burst inside, continuing to holler for his meister as his crimson gaze frantically scoured the apartment for her. Their couch was empty, the television was off. He darted to the kitchen, but she was not there either.

Soul blinked rapidly to clear the tears that had gathered in his eyes - because of the acrid atmosphere in the apartment, he halfheartedly convinced himself - and he made a beeline for Maka's room. Not trusting this doorknob after the last one fucking burnt him, he went ahead and kicked in the door. It gave easily, and he stumbled inside.

"MA-" cough "-KA!" His head snapped to the left and right. Not seeing her on her bed or at her desk, he turned on his heel and went over to his own room. The door was cracked the slightest bit, and he cursed himself for not noticing it when he first barged in. He roughly pushed open the door.

There she was, laying on her side on his bed. Her body faced the wall, clad in only a tank top and shorts. If the situation was anything other than what it was, he might have taken the time to appreciate the sight of her in his space, wearing so little clothing. However, they really needed to get the fuck out of there, and _fast._

"Maka!" he yelled, rushing to her and yanking her up into his arms. Or he tried to; she cried out in pain, and he immediately put her back down. Belatedly, he realized that her top had hiked up to show the bandages that covered the wound he had given her a while back. He cursed. He was so sure it had healed already, but her bandages were a dark red. His sheets stuck to her and pulled her back to the bed.

"Maka, hey," Soul put his hand on her cheek, "Come on. We have to get out of here. I know it hurts, but you gotta bear with me, okay?" She shook her head as tears streamed down her face.

"Maka," he tried to be calm, framing her face with his hands and wiping her eyes with his thumbs. "This whole fucking place is going to collapse. I can't let you stay here." Still, she shook her head and placed her hands on his chest, trying to push him away. He let go of her face only to hold her hands to him.

"Please, Maka," he begged, tears starting to fall freely down his own face. "I can't let you die." His voice cracked, and he knew it wasn't from smoke inhalation.

She froze, ceasing her struggle to make him leave. She locked eyes with him, her viridian orbs deep with emotions he couldn't individually name. She suddenly gripped his shirt in her little hands and tugged, bringing him down to her. She didn't say anything, but he could easily read her intent - if they were to die here, they'd do it together.

The heat hit him again, forcefully. The clangor from the fire made it's way back to his ears, almost deafening at this point. He pulled Maka to him, and she wrapped her own arms back around him. Soul closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, listening to the sounds of their impending demise. He found that he was oddly content. No, he didn't want his meister to die, and he definitely wasn't ready to go either, but they were side by side; he wouldn't have it any other way.

At last, he could hear the long, damning creaks and groans of the building supports starting to give way. He crushed Maka to his chest, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

"I love you," he mouthed into her ashy blonde hair. The structure caved in on them, and they surrendered to eternal sleep.

* * *

Soul woke up. And immediately rolled over and cried.

Oh, this dream was nothing new. In fact, he was sure he could remember every detail at this point, right down to his purchase at the record store. But there was a startling difference this time.

Maka hadn't spoken.

She'd always protested, or told him she loved him too, or _something_. He'd always heard her voice, one last time, before he had to wake up and face another day without her. But not this time.

Fuck, was he forgetting how she spoke? How the tones of her speech would flow through him like the music of her soul? _Had he already forgotten?_ Was that why she didn't talk to him?

The broken remains of his heart told him he should still be grateful. He had gotten to see her, at least, had gotten to hold her again.

He didn't know which to consider the real nightmare: his dreams, or his reality.


	3. Haunting Melody

Soul Eater Angst Week #3 - "Haunting Melody" - Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley and Alison Krauss

The melody Soul never thought he'd hear again always sought him out when he was least prepared for it (not that he was ever fucking ready for it anyway).

At first, it would only sneak upon him in places with close ties to her. A few stray notes would drift to him when he'd pass by the library at Shibusen, or when he'd walk through the training forest behind the school. He would daydream in classes he didn't really have to be at due to his Death Scythe status, and he'd swear he would catch a couple bars of her song as if she were still right next to him.

Then it started following him no matter where he went. Her melody would float through his ears as he rocketed ninety miles an hour on the highway. It would catch up to him while he was Kid's goddamn arm candy at witch conventions. It didn't matter where the hell he was, she - or the song of her soul, at least - would be there too.

He wondered if it was the black blood acting up, the insanity making him hear things he wanted to hear. He was torn between wishing for it to end and never wanting it to stop, because god, he missed it. He missed her, in all her pigtailed, viridian eyed, book wielding glory. But she was gone, and yet her melody stayed to haunt him, hitting him like a goddamned freight train every time the bittersweet music wormed its way through his defenses.

Well, he was always a fucking glutton for suffering, anyway.


	4. Battle Scars

Soul Eater Angst Week #4 - "Battle Scars" - _I Can't Love You Back by Easton Corbin_

Soul really didn't want to be there. He couldn't think of anywhere else _worse_ than this. Seriously, he'd prefer to be on a fucking stage, playing Schumann's Fantasie in C in front of the harshest piano critics the world had to offer.

He never thought he'd have to be _there_ , of all places, where he'd be surrounded by close friends, acquaintances, and teachers; the thought would only briefly flit across his mind and then was promptly discarded. Oh, he knew it was a possibility; _everyone_ knew that. But this time, no one expected it. No, no one could have predicted that the last Death Scythe would be standing anywhere but beside his original meister, especially in this goddamn chapel. But there he was, dressed in his best suit and sitting in the front pew, his heart - or what was left of it - slowly breaking all over again.

Kid - Lord Death, what the fuck ever - was standing before the crowd, giving a heartfelt speech about courage and strength, passion and commitment. Or at least, that's what it started out as; the scythe weapon wasn't really paying attention anymore. He tuned Kid out and focused on the girl - no, _woman_ \- dressed in white, positioned in front of the Shinigami.

 _She should be smiling_ , Soul thought. His meister had hardly ever let the corners of her mouth drop, and as much as he scoffed at her, he secretly adored her optimism. Even without her trademark cheerfulness, though, she was still beautiful. The white dress she wore fell around her soft curves, the intricate beading making it seem as if the fabric itself was moving, cascading over her small frame.

The dress lacked sleeves, effectively displaying the myriad of white scars that painted her pale arms -souvenirs of past battles where his scythe wasn't enough to keep her completely safe. He trailed his vermillion eyes down her skin, clenching his jaw when his observation ended at the bouquet of white lilies resting between her palms.

He guessed that the flowers were standard for a ceremony like this; they were probably given to her out of tradition. Soul felt that she should have been holding a book instead. He didn't know if she even liked lilies. Hell, he had no idea if she liked flowers at all. He wished he had had the chance to ask her about it; on her special day, she should at least have control over that.

Oh, fuck him. Soul had plenty of chances to ask her, but he never did. He had so many opportunities to ask her so many things, and yet they all passed by too quickly, like smoke through his fingers. He really didn't think he'd run out of time so soon. He clenched his fists.

He loved her. God, how he loved her, _still_ loves her, but a whole lot of fucking good it does him. It wouldn't bring her back, no matter how much he needed her. No, nothing could put warmth back in her body, could make her skin contrast from the pure silk she was swathed in. Nothing could make her open those viridian eyes he so desperately wanted to see again, nor could anything put her soul back to where he could reach it and hold it close to his own.

There wasn't a damn thing he could do, other than love her with all he had. Maka was gone, even if her body was still right there. Soul almost hated the empty husk of flesh, but he knew that he could never truly despise anything that was hers.

His gaze rose once again to her arms. So many scars, so many times he failed her. And yet, he couldn't think of a single time where she failed him. Oh, she would argue; she'd insist that the jagged line that bisected his chest was the ultimate reminder of just how badly she'd screwed up. He was proud of it, though - she surely would have died much sooner if he hadn't put himself between her and the blade of the demon sword.

He slipped a hand under his suit jacket and gripped the fabric of his red button-up. He silently cursed both the heart that beat steadily beneath his fingers and the soul that resided deep within himself. He wanted neither of them -not if she couldn't have them too.

He swore that he'd follow her to the ends of the Earth. He hoped that, if he was a lucky son of a bitch, he'd follow her to the heavens as well.

Belatedly, he registered that Kid was looking at him expectantly. Soul blinked, and Kid repeated himself.

"Soul, would you like to say a few words?"

Fuck yes. He'd like to mention how all this was totally fucking unfair, that it should have been his sorry ass in the coffin instead of his beloved meister. It should have been his own fucked up soul to have been disintegrated by that witch, and god _damn it_ , he should have been there to protect her.

Soul wrestled his self-hatred down to where he could put on his trademark mask of indifference, and he slowly rose to his feet. The Shinigami stepped to the side, offering Soul the use of the podium. The last Death Scythe crossed the short distance to the pulpit, opting to stand beside it instead of behind it. He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and looked out at the crowd of people who had come to mourn the loss of such an influential, loving person. He cleared his throat. As he opened his mouth to begin his speech, his eyes caught once more on the casket and the woman inside, and his throat closed up.

He pressed his lips together and cleared his throat again, forcing himself to power through. "Maka was my meister," he managed, his voice cracking. He felt his heart try to creep up his throat and tears began to sting his eyes. He swallowed and struggled to control his breathing, attempting to conveniently forget the fact that the woman he loved more than life itself was dead before him. He ducked his head and lifted a hand to readjust his tie, trying to buy himself time. Seconds stretched into an eternity, and still Soul couldn't get himself together.

"...yeah," he rasped lamely, gulping one last time as he quickly returning to his seat. He ignored the sympathetic whisperings from the people around him. _Great fucking speech, dumbass_ , he fumed at himself. He knew that Maka deserved a hell of a lot more than the five weak words he gave her. God knew she was worth all of the lines of beautiful poetry that existed in the world and then some. He could write letters upon letters about who this woman was, what she meant to the people around her - what she meant to _him_ \- and still only scratch the surface.

As he looked at her one last time before Kid closed the coffin, the thought again raced through his mind that he shouldn't be there. It had never seemed possible to him that she would die first because, no matter how it played out, he swore he would die protecting her. But he didn't, and that was the biggest scar he'd ever have, ripping through his soul as a plane passes through clouds. The casket closed softly, but the sound reverberated through his entire being.

After, he let his tears fall.

After he had dropped his handful of dirt onto her casket, burying her under what was her favorite tree in the training forest outside Shibusen.

After he had endured the mass of people offering him their condolences as if they fucking knew him.

After he went back to an empty apartment and shucked off the goddamn suit he never liked to wear anyway.

After he turned the shower on to scalding, letting it burn his skin for ages because he no longer had to share the hot water.

Only after he knew he was truly alone did he allow himself to weep, teardrops blending in with the now mildly-warm water that cascaded down on him. He let himself cry for the loss of his meister, his best friend, the one person who made his life worth living.

But no matter his tears and his broken cries, no matter his crushed heart and battered soul, he couldn't love Maka back into his arms.


	5. Orders are Orders

Soul Eater Angst Week - "Orders are Orders" - _Probably Wouldn't Be This Way_ by Le Ann Rimes

He was glad that hardly anyone came out here at this time of day, when the sun was just barely hanging onto consciousness by a few threads and the black moon threatened to take over its reign of the sky. The tips of his white hair took on the red-orange gleam of the sunset as he slouched in front of the tree he had become all too familiar with.

"So Kid's setting me up on a fucking date with a different meister," Soul spat out, shoving his hands deep into his black jacket and resisting the urge to kick some stray rocks. No, this was a place that was much too sacred to him for disturbances like that. He knew that if he saw anyone kicking the dirt at Maka's tree, he'd slice off the bastard's feet.

"He thinks that taking the guy out for a couple drinks will make me agree to partner with him," he continued. "Fuck that shit." Soul gritted his sharp teeth and clenched his fists. There was no way he was going to even try to resonate with the fucking meister version of Justin Law. He didn't know why Kid had even suggested it.

"Fuck that," the weapon repeated. "I only have cool partners." After a moment, however, he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "But as long as I'm Kid's bitch, I have to do what he wants. What was it that you said? Orders are orders?" Crimson eyes tiredly roamed their way from the roots of the tree to the emerald leaves at the very top. He swore that they had taken on the color of Maka's eyes since her burial beneath it, but he wouldn't tell anyone else that.

"I don't even want another meister, Maka," Soul admitted softly, hunching his shoulders in on himself. It was painfully true; hell, he already felt like he was cheating on her by being Kid's weapon, let alone anyone else's. "Guess you've ruined me," he chuckled humorlessly.

He couldn't help but think to the last time he spoke to her when she could actually hear him, when she was burning with the fire of life.

Or more accurately, when they were both burning with rage and he turned his back and walked away from her.

 _He came in the door, fresh from a short trip around Death City on his motorcycle, and dropped onto the couch, toeing off his shoes and kicking them under the coffee table. He craned his head over his shoulder to look into Maka's room to see what she was up to. To his utter surprise, she was packing._

" _What are you doing?" he called out to her, dread pooling in his stomach. Surely she wasn't leaving…?_

 _She didn't even look up. "Oh, hey Soul," she returned, distracted. "Kid is sending me on a mission to supervise some students on a kishin hunt. He thinks there might be a rogue witch out where the kishin is, but he isn't sure, so he wants me to kind of keep an eye out."_

 _Soul just about choked. "A witch? What kind?"_

" _He doesn't know. That's why he's sending me, so I can take care of it." She disappeared into her closet. He stood up and made his way over to her door frame, leaning against it and crossing his arms over his chest. He furrowed his brows but then quickly smoothed them out, careful to hide his insecurities and slight jealousy from his all too perceptive meister. Not that she was looking, anyway - she was on her knees, still digging through her closet._

" _You and who else?"_

 _Maka let out a sharp cry of triumph as she thrust one of her older combat boots into the air. She hefted herself up and off the floor of the closet, shutting the door behind her as she walked back to her bed. She stuffed the shoe inside the suitcase next to its twin. Soul waited while she rearranged her clothing so the top would close. He knew she was trying to avoid responding, but by now she should know better than that; when he wanted answers, he got them._

 _She bowed her head and sighed. "No one. It's just me and the students," she finally relented. She peeked up at him through ash blond bangs, green eyes begging him not to make a big deal out of it._

 _Too damn bad. "Alone? What the actual hell, Maka?" he asked incredulously, anger quickly rising. He strode over to her bed and loomed over her. "What if there_ is _a witch? You'll be fucking_ weaponless _?"_

" _I can handle it, Soul. And anyway - "_

" _Let me come with," he interrupted her, a hand shooting out to grasp her elbow. Maka glanced down at his touch, then looked back to his crimson stare, commanding her to hold his gaze. She averted her gaze and brushed his hand away, walking past him to the living room._

 _He followed her. "I'm serious, Maka. You need a weapon," he tried to reason, but she whirled on him, a flurry of pigtails and fire. She clamped her hands on her hips. "I can't, Soul. Kid wants only me, and orders are orders. Besides, I go on meister-only missions all the time, and_ now _you're displaying concern?"_

" _You don't go hunting fucking_ witches!" _he roared back, clenching his fists by his sides._

" _We aren't sure there even_ is _one!" she fired back, raising her voice to match his. "Even if there is, I can take her! I can do it, and I don't even_ need _a weapon!" She slapped a hand over her runaway mouth, eyes widening at her last exclamation. Soul jerked back, his own red orbs practically the size of dinner plates. Hurt and the ever-present feeling of utter inadequacy coursed through him. He narrowed his eyes to mere slits and flattened his lips into a line. Maka reached out to him, her face contrite, but then quickly retracted her hand at his reproachful expression._

" _I'm sorry, I - " she attempted, but he cut her off._

" _Don't need a weapon, huh?" he bit out._

" _Wait, Soul, I didn't - !"_

" _Well I don't fucking need you either! Who the fuck even needs a flat chested idiot with more daddy issues than a hooker on Fifth Avenue?" he sneered. He knew it was uncalled for, but he couldn't care less. He pivoted on his heel and stalked toward the door of the apartment, snatching up his shoes as he passed through. He didn't look at her as he paused by the doorway to slip his sneakers on, and she made no move to stop him. When they were on, Soul opened the door and stepped through. However, he halted to throw one last insult over his shoulder._

" _Besides, I've got enough partner requests to last a lifetime, so I think I can find someone who needs me pretty easily." And with that, he shut the door and walked away._

Soul clenched his fists, tears threatening to sting his eyes. He scrunched up his face and took deep breaths, calming himself as the memory came back with alarming clarity. When he could safely open his eyes again, he shoved a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, taking out the crumpled note that resided there:

 _Hey, I'm sorry for what I said. It wasn't true, and I'd like to talk to you about it when I get back. Love you - Maka_.

He simply held it and stared at Maka's tree. He didn't need to read the short letter; he had memorized it a long time ago. He sighed, dropping his gaze to his feet.

"God, Maka, I'm - " he started, but he shook his head. "No, sorry doesn't even begin to cover it. I can't even ask for forgiveness, because what I said…" he cut himself off again, narrowing his eyes to ward off more tears. He paused for a minute, stuffing down his regret and self-loathing.

"You know, you were forgiven the second the words left your mouth. I know you get pretty headstrong; I don't hold it against you," he continued. He stopped again, turning his head towards the waning sun. He watched the last rays of light escape the sun while the rest were consumed by the night. He looked at the note in his hand and crushed it for the millionth time in his palm. Under the cover of the darkness, he let go of the words he had held in for too long.

"I love you too, Maka."


	6. Sacrifice

Soul Eater Angst Week #6 - "Sacrifice" - _One More Day_ by Diamond Rio

Something wasn't right. Even with the rain, the forest around them was much too quiet, especially with the disturbance of a kishin.

Maka carefully made her way across the clearing, her Soul Detect continuously scanning the area as she led the student meister-weapon pair to where the kishin had last been seen. The sky kept dumping gallons of water on them, only adding to the darkness of the night. She was determined, however, not to let the eeriness of their surroundings affect her concentration. She kept moving ahead, trying to keep her feet from sinking in the mud.

"Professor Albarn," the younger meister piped up. Maka stopped, turning to look at him. "These are really bad conditions. Is it safe to be hunting?"

"Aiden," the teacher chided, shaking her head. "Hunting is never safe."

"Is the kishin even out here?" Aiden's weapon, a demon sai, questioned.

"Just because you don't pick up the trail of a kishin right away doesn't mean it's not around, Misa. Your meister's Soul Detect is still developing," Maka gently reprimanded her charges. "You shouldn't ever assume - "

A high-pitched cackle was all that registered before Maka instinctively pushed her student behind her. Immediately, she was hit by a bright purple beam, which latched onto her soul. Claws pierced the small, blue, winged orb that made up her essence. She let out a small _ahh!_ of pain before clenching her jaw and silencing herself. She glared across the clearing to where the spell was still connected to its owner, who was still laughing maniacally as she came closer on her broom.

"Ahaha! Oh, look at whom I've caught in my little trap!" she tittered, an egregarious smile stretched across her face. The length of the purple beam shortened as the woman came closer, the spell attached to her soul as well. Maka ground her teeth together as the claws dug deeper into her own essence. She could sense Aiden cowering behind her. _What an excellent first mission for these kids_ , she groaned to herself.

In hindsight, it was selfish for her to have taken on this mission. Kid said that it was the same kishin that had messed with Soul so badly at the witches convention about two months ago, and Maka had jumped at it despite the threat of a rogue witch supposedly nearby. _I think we've found her_.

"State your name!" Maka called out, keeping her voice as strong as she could. Even though it hurt - and god, did it hurt - she still had two students in her care and needed to be indomitable for their sake.

"And in what position are you to be making demands?" the vile woman taunted, flipping soaking wet hair over her shoulder. She let out a pulse from her purple soul, and Maka grunted when it resulted in the claws pressing in harder. The villainess continued, "No matter. I am the mighty witch Kerensa, the madame of madness and the mistress of true evil!"

"You are not in compli- _aah!_ " Maka shrieked when the claws painfully began to worm in deeper, working their way through her soul. Her breathing hitched as she continued, "in compliance with the treaty between Mabaa and Lord Death!"

"You think I care about a silly treaty?" the witch scoffed, "Mabaa was a fool! And I would know; I worked directly underneath her as the matriarch of _talpidae_!"

"S-she's a mole witch," Aiden whimpered behind Maka. The elder meister almost laughed - _a fucking mole witch?_ Soul would've said - but with that thought, her amusement vanished.

Maka wasn't going to make it home. Not alive, anyway, and she knew that. The claws pricked at her soul, tearing it away bit by bit. Even if she knew how to disengage from the spell, she wouldn't have enough of a soul left to live. She gritted her teeth. Even as the agony threatened to cloud her vision and take over her mind, she refused to let her death be an accident. If this witch was going to take her soul, the meister would make sure that both their lives would be taken. However, her students needed to escape first.

"Go!" Maka called to Aiden, who stood slack-jawed and frozen behind her, his weapon shaking in his hands. "Go back to the school and tell Lord Death! Tell him the rogues are advancing their techniques!"

"But Professor Albarn - !" the young sai-meister cried, but Maka cut him off.

"GO!" she roared, turning her attention back to the witch. She didn't watch the student sprint away with his partner in hand toward the edge of the clearing, focusing rather on the target in front of her. The witch cackled, tightening her grip on the three-star meister's soul.

"I'll catch up with you, sweeties!" Kerensa called after the students. She then turned her attention back to Maka. "So you think your pathetic Shinigami can stop me, the mighty witch Kerensa?" the vile woman jeered, ripping even more of Maka's essence away.

The meister gritted her teeth. "He won't have to," she spat, "I will."

"You and what weapon, Maka Albarn?" the witch sneered, "Where is your precious weapon, Soul Eater? I wanted the pleasure of shredding the souls of those who slaughtered my beloved sisters in the name of Lord Death! And Soul, I wanted to show him what it's like to fail his meister." Her smile widened sickeningly. " _Again_."

"YOU WON'T TOUCH HIM!" With a sharp cry, Maka expanded the wings of her Grigori soul and wrapped them around the ugly purple blob that was the witch's own soul. She wasn't entirely sure this would work, but she had no other choice.

It didn't stop her from wanting more options, though. It didn't stop her from wishing she had more skills, more knowledge, more _time_.

Oh, what she wouldn't give for more day.

One more day to do all the things she should already have done. One more day to hug each of her friends goodbye, to let each of them know how much she valued their friendship. To tell her papa that he wasn't so bad after all, and she no longer wanted to deny his existence. To thank Stein and Marie for their attention and care over the years.

But most importantly, she wanted one more day to see Soul. To tell him face to face that she loved him, had loved him for a long time. To hold him in the way he deserved to be held, to remind him that he was a good person. She wished she could him that she was proud of him and all he had- _they_ had - accomplished in their time together.

She wanted to apologize in person for their argument, not only leaving a measly note _promising her return_. He was the best weapon she could have ever asked for. No, he was more than that. He was her _partner_ \- her other half, her heart, her home. She was wrong, so wrong, as to say she didn't need him, because god, how she needed him. Needed his snark and his smile, his cool exterior and his gentle touches. _And he will never know_.

She finally let go of the tears that welled behind her eyes. Once Maka was certain that the witch could not possibly be freed, the scythe meister collapsed what was left of her soul.

* * *

Soul kept his hands in his pockets as he trudged down the hallway to the Death Room. There had been whisperings about the return of the students that Maka had left on that mission with, and none of the gossip seemed to bode well. Soul had cancelled the class he was supposed to teach and headed directly toward Death's door. He ignored the way the conversations seemed to drop around him and what it could potentially mean.

He finally reached the room, his footsteps echoing throughout the space. He spotted Kid in his Reaper uniform speaking with two students. A boy he thought he recognized from the new class of meisters looked to be on the verge of a breakdown, and a girl - probably his weapon - stood rigid behind him.

Kid glanced up at Soul, then refocused on the kids. He must have dismissed them, because the girl bowed to him and then steered her distraught meister out of the room. As the students passed Soul, the boy halted and turned red-rimmed eyes up to look at him.

"Professor Evans, I - !"

"Aiden," the girl interrupted, tugging at his arm. Aiden's head swiveled toward her. "Lord Death said we should go home." With that, she pulled him down the hallway of guillotines.

Soul watched the pair of retreating figures, then turned back to Kid, raising an eyebrow in silent question. The Shinigami sighed.

"Soul, those were the students whom Maka was sent to accompany," Kid began. Soul moved closer to him as he continued, "It was their first mission. They did not find the Kishin."

"How did they not find it if Maka was with them?" Soul asked. "Her Soul Detect is unmatchable."

"They did not find the Kishin," Kid repeated, "but they did find a witch." Soul's stomach turned. "They informed me that the rogues are advancing their skills and spells, which does not bode well for the general populace. We need to - "

"Where's Maka?" Soul cut in. The knot his stomach was twisting itself into seemed to be working its way up his throat. He swallowed.

"Soul, I - " Kid started, but he too seemed to have trouble speaking. Slow-rising anger helped Soul to find his voice.

"Don't fucking tell me you sent her out there weaponless. Don't you fucking dare," he seethed, narrowing his eyes at the Shinigami.

"It was the smallest chance that a witch was even - "

"She had no fucking _weapon_?!" the scythe roared, eyes beginning to glow.

The new Lord Death paused, slitting his own eyes at his friend. His powerful aura as the Shinigami pulsed in response to Soul's erratic wavelength. He continued for force his energy between them, reminding the death weapon of whom he was dealing with. Kid stopped when he saw Soul get himself under control, and the white-haired teen visibly deflated.

"Where is she?" Soul asked again, voice soft. Kid could hardly look at him, his red eyes almost as big as Maka's were.

"She saved their lives," Kid murmured, eyes closing against what he knew was coming.

Soul's mind took a few seconds to process Kid's words, but his heart was much faster at piecing together what the Shinigami had not said. The deathscythe staggered back a step, the blow hitting him almost physically as his breathing stopped.

 _Maka isn't coming back_.


	7. Things Left Unsaid

**A/N: Well, this wraps things up! A huge shout out to Explorer08 for being awesome (:**

Soul Eater Angst Week #7 - "Things Left Unsaid" - _If You're Reading This_ by Tim McGraw

Death the Kid prided himself on being a well balanced, level-headed individual. The Shinigami knew that he still held as much emotion within him as any other young man his age, but was able to distance himself away from the human fallacy more than his mortal counterparts. It was for this reason that he had volunteered to be the one to clean out Maka's desk at the DWMA. He had asked Soul if the scythe would like to sort through his original meister's work station, but with a clenched jaw and hooded eyes, the death weapon declined. Kid then gathered the rest of Spartoi to announce that he himself would box up Maka's belongings and give them to Soul when he asked for them.

When the halls had emptied for the last time for the semester, Kid made his way down to the classroom where Maka had student-taught an introductory class on Soul Theory. He didn't know how much stuff she would have, so he brought a large plastic tote box to house her things until Soul was ready to have them back. When he opened the door, he was assaulted by the scents and bright colors of dozens of flowers. In hindsight, he shouldn't have been so surprised that Maka's students had left small gifts of their own, as they would not have access to the forest where their professor's final resting place was. She was well liked - loved, even - by her pupils.

As he approached her desk, he noticed small notes scattered over the top of her work space. He didn't mean to intrude, but he also couldn't help but read a few of the shorter ones as he gathered them all together.

 _We'll miss you, Professor Albarn_

 _Goodbye, Ms. Albarn._

 _Use your Grigori wings to fly high!_

Kid noticed an empty cardboard box sitting in a corner of the room and brought it over to put the notes in. He then placed the box on a student desk and began to bring the flowers over to the same spot. Some were dead; clearly they had been left undisturbed as a favor to both whoever left them and also to Maka's memory. Kid decided he would bring the flowers and notes to Maka's tree once he was finished with her desk.

Once all the tribute items were cleared from the desk, Kid began his task of boxing up what was left. For as disorganized as her and Soul's apartment was, her desk was nowhere near as disorderly. Maka took her work seriously, and it showed. Kid pushed her chair back, then first boxed up her more office-y supplies: stapler, pens, pencils, and the like. Her calendar was neatly lined out, and it fit neatly into the box with all the other things she would no longer need.

Next came her more personal things. Kid was almost in awe at all the pictures she had equally displayed and tucked away in her desk drawers. Pictures of the members of Spartoi, of her mentors, of a person the Shinigami could only guess was Maka's mother by the same green of the woman's eyes. As he packed the pictures in the plastic box, Kid couldn't help but smile at all the photos Maka had hidden of her partner. From photos of everyday life with the weapon to special ones taken of the two of them by friends, Maka certainly had quite the collection. The new Lord Death delicately placed the pictures in the box where they would not get bent.

Kid placed all her notes and small trinkets around the photos, then gave each drawer one last look to make sure he hadn't missed anything. He closed each drawer with a kind of finality, then he hefted the full plastic box up to rest on the top of her desk. When the bottom of the box landed with a heavy thud, a stray pen rolled across the desk and clattered to the floor, skittering under the desk where Maka's chair would normally be. Kid crouched to pick it up, compressing himself a little to fit under the desk. When he leaned back to raise back to his standing position, a glimpse of yellow underneath the desk caught his attention.

 _I didn't peg Maka as the type to store her gum for later_ , Kid cringed. However, upon a longer look, he realized it was actually a folded piece of paper taped to the underside of her desk. He peeled it off and stood, unfolding the unmarked yellow legal paper. _Correction: not unlabeled_ , Kid thought as he spread out the paper on top of the desk beside the box of Maka's belongings.

" _Things To Tell Soul Before He Gets Death Scythe Assignment_ ," the Shinigami read aloud as he smoothed out the creases in the page. He wondered if Maka had even remembered she had this; Soul had been a death scythe for a while, but was never assigned anywhere but in Kid's own company. Once Spirit had resigned when he felt the new Lord Death had adjusted well, Soul had taken up Maka's father's position.

Kid, his curiosity piqued, started reading through the list, wondering if there were any he could tell Soul himself. He smiled softly at the first few things: "No matter where you go, you'll still be the coolest" and "There will always be a place for you to call home." As the list continued, though, the corners of Kid's lips progressively turned downward. The words became more personal, more intimate.

 _I hope it's everything you ever dreamed of._

 _Thanks for being my partner._

 _I'll miss you._

Kid closed his eyes. He no longer had any curiosity left about Maka's hidden paper, nor did he have any desire to finish reading the things she never told Soul. Solely out of a need to finish what he had started, Kid opened his eyes and stared at the yellow page again. He felt almost sick as he read the final two lines:

 _I don't want to lose you._

 _I love you_.

The Shinigami tilted his head back, gazing blankly at the wall at the back of the classroom. His level headedness had left him along with his balance, and he sank back into Maka's chair. He knew - he didn't know how, but he _knew_ \- with nauseating certainty that scythe technician had not said any of these to her weapon. It might destroy said weapon to know of the feelings his meister held in her heart.

It was that thought that had Death the Kid in a dilemma: do the right thing and give the paper to Soul, or do the best thing and keep it from him? The scythe was still adamant about not taking a new meister, and Kid understood even as he wished Soul would cooperate with another partner. The god of death let go of a sigh, pushing the air through his nostrils as his mouth pursed. He leaned forward, steepling his fingers as he pondered on what he would do.

He folded the note back up and tucked it in his pocket, leaving that decision for when it would actually matter.

* * *

Two months later, Death the Kid was ending a conference call (an order of witches based near Seattle were complaining about meister activity) when someone coughed behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know it was Soul; as the weapon's part-time meister, Kid could feel his wavelength easily.

"Hello, Soul," the Shinigami greeted as he turned to face his company. The scythe mumbled a soft "hey" back, his hands jammed down in the pockets of his slacks.

Kid walked toward the last Death Scythe, his feet clicking across the floor. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

Soul kept his eyes down as he said, "I think I'd like to take over Maka's class."

That was not what the new Lord Death had expected to hear.

"Okay," Kid replied, smoothing over his shock, "Are you sure? No one is - "

"I want to," Soul cut in, finally looking up at the death god.

Kid looked over his companion, noticing how he finally seemed to be caring about himself. His face was shaven and his usually chaotic white hair was tamed underneath a slim black band. The weapon had lost weight, but today he made an effort to look neat despite the extra space in his clothes.

"...and I think I'm ready to get Maka's stuff," Soul continued, his voice low and gruff. Kid nodded once, and went behind the ornate armchair that stood proud near the center of the room. He pushed his hands through an illusion that Kim Diehl had set up for him and retrieved the box. He brought it out and handed it to Soul. "That was everything in her desk," Kid told him as the weapon firmly gripped the sides of the box.

Maka's note seemed to burn a hole in his coat, reminding the Shinigami that his words weren't exactly true. He stuck his hand down in the pocket where the yellow paper had been since he found it, and he toyed with the edge. He still wasn't sure what to do. As he waffled, Soul made his way to the hallway that would take him to the outside.

"Wait," Kid called, and the death weapon turned around. Soul raised an eyebrow as his boss struggled for words.

"I - " Kid began, pinching Maka's paper between his fingers as he went to draw it out of his pocket. But his motion halted, and Kid swallowed as he resumed, "I wish you luck, Soul." The scythe nodded and returned on his path back home.

When he was sure Soul was gone, Kid took Maka's note out of his jacket. He couldn't give it to her weapon, not when he was finally moving on. With a heavy sigh, Kid walked over to a desk of his own and pulled out a box of matches.

It was better if some things remained left unsaid.


End file.
